Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. But you shall swing, rascal,—you shall swing. Prior to the great adventure, her mirrors had been the still pools in the rocks after the ebb. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well.
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